


If I Could Do It All Again I Know I'd Go Back To You

by rycewritestrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Amnesia!Bellamy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Post-Episode: s05e09, References to Depression, Romance, Season/Series 05, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-26 20:26:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rycewritestrash/pseuds/rycewritestrash
Summary: "Madi catches her sometimes, staring intently at the pages filled with dark curls and broad shoulders—trying to recreate the feeling of looking into his eyes.It’s a shitty comparison. There’s always something missing—a freckle out of place, the lines under his eyes too soft, or the curl of his lips too crooked, an unfamiliar sight that leaves her chest aching.No matter how many times she tries—erase, repeat—it’s never the same Bellamy who returned to Earth looking back her."orClarke tries to come to terms with losing Bellamy to the choices they made.She never expects him to to come back to her from a time before the sky fell down around them.Title fromBack To Youby Selena Gomez.





	If I Could Do It All Again I Know I'd Go Back To You

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a part of the [bellarke bingo](https://bellarkebingo.tumblr.com/) collection hosted by [eyessharpweaponshot](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/) and [pawprinterfanfic](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> → (Eventual) Tropes Used: flowers, forbidden romance
> 
> Hi y'all! This first chapter is pretty freaking angsty, but that is the worst of it--a lot of fluff and cuteness will soon be coming, I promise!

Considering they’re both stuck on the same side of the valley, it’s surprisingly easy for Clarke to avoid being around Bellamy Blake.

Of course, it’s not _that_ hard to figure out why, when one considers the fact that he is probably (most definitely) doing everything he can to avoid her too.

Clarke wonders if it’s easier to pretend someone doesn’t exist when one has spent the last six years believing them to be deceased. Unfortunately, that train of thought always ends with her questioning if it was worth it—having that unwavering hope that he-- _they_ were alive. Was it worth losing them twice?

When she looks at Madi, she knows the answer is unequivocally, yes.

She never would’ve survived long enough to find her if it wasn’t for that damn radio.

Considering how things played out, she’s happy he doesn’t know—thankful this weakness is an unspoken secret between her and Madi, hidden away and collecting dust in the back of the rover that Clarke made sure remained _theirs_ , despite Raven’s protests.

It was the last time Bellamy spoke to her, or rather the last time his voice was directed _at_ her.

 _“Let it go, Raven,”_ he said, barely giving her a glance when his eyes met Clarke’s, the cold hollowness she found there freezing her on the spot. _“You’re not the only one who returned home thinking you found something you lost; only to realize it was a mirage.”_

She can still taste the venom of his words and the blood in her mouth from biting her tongue.

Clarke tells herself she hates him. It’s easy to pretend it’s true when she can feel the heat of their glares burning the back of her neck. 

She compartmentalizes in public, something Lexa taught her all those years ago.

For Lexa, it was a box, metaphorical, hidden away in room with impenetrable walls, and a reinforced door—a door Clarke never asked to have the key to, but it was given to her anyway.

For Clarke, it’s a book, filled with soft smudges and sharp edges where the lines meet.

She knows she’s not as strong as Lexa was, because it’s leather bound and solid and as _real_ as that fucking radio—only kept closer, hidden under the left side of her makeshift mattress where no one ever sleeps.

Madi catches her sometimes, staring intently at the pages filled with dark curls and broad shoulders—trying to recreate the feeling of looking into his eyes.

It’s a shitty comparison. There’s always something missing—a freckle out of place, the lines under his eyes too soft, or the curl of his lips too crooked, an unfamiliar sight that leaves her chest aching.

No matter how many times she tries— _erase, repeat_ —it’s never the same Bellamy who returned to Earth looking back her.

She spent the last six years missing a ghost, and now she’s doomed to spend however long she has left wishing she didn’t waste so much time mourning the person he _was_ , when she should have been—

She refuses to allow herself enough time to be bitter about it.

A part of her even likes to think she understands.

Up _there_ she was a memory; and stricken with grief, they’d spent lost time idolizing her for the same choices they hated her for making on the ground.

Her sacrifice made her a hero.

Her survival makes her a threat.

*

“Do you miss them?” Madi asks, in the middle of trying (and failing) to skip a hunk of rock, glaring at it in offense when it plops into the water and sinks straight to the bottom.

Clarke covers her snort with a cough.

“It needs to be flat,” she reminds her gently, finding a more suitable piece. “Like this,” she says, and flings it across the river, so it skips four times.

“This game is dumb.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

Madi makes a face, but looks for another rock to throw anyways.

“So?” she says, after too much silence has passed.

Clarke sighs. “By _them_ , I assume you mean Bellamy,” she ventures.

“It’s a mystery why _Wanheda_ isn’t remembered for her astute self-awareness.”

Clarke raises a brow. Her vocabulary has increased immensely, even now with the chip removed of her head. Another thing she owes Raven Reyes for—if she were willing to accept any gratitude of hers, that is.

_“I didn’t do it for you.”_

Clarke shakes her head at the memory. “Smartass,” she mutters.

“ _Bad_ ass,” Madi corrects, quirking her lips.

“Okay then, _little miss_ _badass_. The fish are cowering in fear from your ability to drop boulders on their heads.”

“Please,” Madi says with a scoff. “If I was hunting, spears would be way more efficient, as you well know . . . or bullets,” she adds, as an afterthought. And then, “I don’t miss.”

Clarke arches a brow. “Do I need to remind you who taught you how to shoot?”

“And who taught _you_?”

Clarke’s mouth shuts and she ducks her head.

“Sorry,” Madi says, after a moment. “I was only teasing.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke says, touching her shoulder to let her know she means it. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Madi clears her throat, seeming to struggle with whatever it is she wants to say. But in the next second her mind is made up, and she blurts the sentence in one long breath. “I just don’t get why you guys can’t just forgive each other!”

“Madi—” Clarke starts.

“No, seriously. Isn’t that, like, you’re whole _thing_? Forgiveness?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple this time.”

“Why not?” she demands. “After everything, why can’t _something_ be simple again? Why do you need to keep drawing it out for dramatic effect? You love—”

“Madi!” Clarke warns, glancing around them as if there’d be anyone close enough to her to hear them anyways. No one is around. But still—“Keep your voice down.”

She lets out an indigent huff, but continues, softer, “You love him—all of them; they’re your home.”

Clarke consciously doesn’t let herself flinch when she replies, “And I left him.” Madi shakes her head, and Clarke tilts her chin up to meet her gaze, “ _You’re_ my home, natblida.”

“He left you first,” Madi retorts, stubborn as ever, and then she buries her face in Clarke’s shirt to hide her glassy eyes.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Clarke tells her, stroking her hair. “But you don’t have to feel guilty, not for me. I want you to be happy. I want your life to be so full, Madi. It’s okay to let them take up some space in it. I know it won’t mean that you love me any less.”

“I _do_ love you.”

“I know that. I’ll _always_ know that.”

Madi pulls back, drying her eyes on her sleeve. “I just wish you didn’t believe I’m the only one who does.” Clarke’s jaw slackens, but her expression stays neutral. “It’s okay to have more than one home, Clarke. There’s still space left for you, too.”

She smiles, sadly. “I promise I’ll keep that in mind, okay?”

Madi’s eyes narrow at the lie, seeming more like her usual self. “You better.”

Clarke sighs. “So, it’s settled. Who am I to disobey the last commander to end the third apocalypse?”

“A fool,” she declares, mouth curling into a grin, when she hurls the next stone into the air, beaming when it skips two times more than Clarke’s before her.

Her lips twitch. “Obviously.”

*

There was a time when Clarke believed in second chances.

She can tell every time Madi wants to ask, but doesn’t. It’s been two weeks since she tried to convince Clarke to join _them_ for dinner, but she refused with more bite than intended.

Now Madi just looks at her with this heavy expectant stare, and waits.

Clarke says nothing.

Madi finally relents with a small, sad smile and a quick peck on a cheek, murmured _I love yous_ before leaving Clarke be.

It’s always bitter sweet. While she prefers the solitude, it’s harder to ignore the racing thoughts in her head without any noise to drown them out.

The silence is deafening on nights like this.

*

She never thought she’d miss his glare—that hard look of frustration and mix of disappointment that’s been replaced now by a face of indifference on the rare occasions she finds herself within his line of vision, usually during one of her infrequent shifts in medical where she actually shows up, or on one of his regular perimeter walks.

He’ll scan his surroundings and glance passed her as if she’s nothing. He pulls it off so convincingly, that she has often found herself questioning if she’s just background imagery.

She thinks he must wish she stayed dead. It would’ve been easier not to have to mourn her second time; though she’s not sure he has anything left to grieve for after six years. He certainly doesn’t seem affected by the loss any more than she does.

Then again, Clarke has always been better at hiding her heart than Bellamy has.

But this isn’t the same Bellamy she remembers.

And she’s not the same Clarke he left behind.

*

Clarke smiles when she’s supposed to, and luckily it’s not too often, because it seems no one even expects it of her anymore.

Her mother is too busy trying to restore her relationship with Kane and Madi has taken been taken with Raven ever since the flame was removed from her head, enough so to keep her busy most days (after begging and predictably failing at getting Clarke to come with, of course).

There’s no one left to know what she was like before the ground and after her _little natblida_. They only remember her for her stern looks, frowns, and overall seriousness given any situation, and that’s a hell of a lot easier to pull off than joy.

Every once in a while, Clarke catches the corner of her mouth turn up without having to force it, usually at times when Madi is teasing Raven about Shaw, or sticking her tongue out at Monty’s horrid attempt at cooking something that isn’t algae.

But her happiness doesn’t belong to her.

It’s a reflection of theirs.

*

Madi asks one night if she can show Bellamy the rover, so he can tell her some of the stories Clarke used to try to recreate in a different life.

She is vaguely aware of him standing a ways behind Madi. Close enough to listen, but not close enough to reach.

Clarke hums, and says, soft, “That would be nice.”

Madi squints like she doesn’t believe her and Clarke doesn’t have the energy to pretend this late. She pats her hair down instead and tells her to go enjoy herself.

“You could join us,” Madi says before she can escape too far away.

Clarke freezes, listens to the silence stretch around them, waiting for _him_ to object.

She does it for him. “Not tonight, natblida . . . I’m tired,” she mutters, ignoring the grumbled, _you’re always tired_ , that fades behind her with each passing footstep.

She tells herself she’s imagining the weight of Bellamy’s eyes following her into her cabin.

*

Murphy is the only one of Skykru who has actively gotten around to seeking her out. It bothered her to no end at first, but he never says much. And pretty soon she’s sure he’s only there to enjoy the quiet for himself.

No one will bother him if he’s with Clarke.

*

At her weakest she’s not numb, or sad, or even lonely.

To her utmost horror, she’s _jealous._

Her eyes follow as he moves past her, fist clenching at his side, still tense under the weight of Echo’s touch—a brush of knuckles down his spine.

A throat clears, startling her out of her trance.

Murphy has gotten in the terrible habit of following her around, a new special kind of torment reserved especially for fellow cockroaches she suspects.

She scowls at him as a slow smirk spreads across his face, following her line of sight.

“Missing something, Griffin?”

She rolls her eyes and pointedly goes back to picking berries by the stream. It’s meant to be a surprise. Her body isn’t so heavy today, the sun not so bright that she has to keep her eyes closed to bear it. So, she ventured outside their home on the hunt, figuring Madi would enjoy adding new colors to her hair once she’s finished learning how to take a part an engine and put it back together again—courtesy of Raven, as per usual.

Murphy sighs, trailing off behind her. There’s a few glorious beats of silence, when she thinks he’ll let it go, back to making pointless remarks and pretending she’s actually engaging him in conversation.

Instead he says, “He misses you too, you know. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.”

Clarke doesn’t want to bother wasting her breath responding to something so ridiculous, but her scoff sets him off on a tangent.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose you, Clarke,” he snaps.

She hesitates at the raw emotion of it she can’t quite place. Is it anger or sorrow? She can’t tell anymore. It all feels the same now.

She cocks her head as if to say, _I’m listening._

“We were a mess, but—we all had something to live for on the ring, with or without you.” She flinches. “Bellamy took the longest to remember that, but he kept fighting because _you_ died to give him that chance—to give all of us that chance.”

“He didn’t owe me anything,” she snaps. “None of you did.”

“That’s not the point, Clarke. I’m trying to get you to pull your head out of your ass,” he heckles. “He still cares. Even if he can’t show it right now, that’s just out of habit of having to go on the last six years pretending he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life wishing you there.”

She opens and closes her mouth—once— _twice._

“Everything he did, up there and down here,” he adds. “He did it for _you_.”

She blinks. “Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugs, averting his gaze. “Boredom, mostly,” he decides, because he’s an asshole.

She glowers at him and pivots to leave, but he jerks her back by her wrist. “He did a lot for me. Maybe I just want to return the favor.”

She deflates, a sigh escaping her. “He did it because you’re his family, Murphy. Because he loved— _he loves you_.” She pauses. “And because he had someone to come home to on the ground,” she says, thinking of Octavia.

“Clarke,” Murphy mutters—just her name followed by a deep breath.

“I’m sorry you returned only to find ghosts.”

*

He doesn’t visit for a few days.

She hates that she has to remind herself to be grateful while she still can.

Cockroaches are relentless after all.

*

Murphy appears bearing fruit over a week later, an entire basket filled to the brim with bright green apples.

He waltzes into her home without even knocking and just announces that he’s baking pie, like it’s a fucking normal occurrence.

Madi squeals in delight, a noise Clarke hasn’t heard in such a long time, she forces herself to grit her teeth a bear it.

_Fine._

The pie is decent.

“My pie is a fucking slice of heaven, you lying sack of shit.”

*

They don’t talk about _him_ anymore.

Clarke doesn’t question why the pit in her stomach feels less like relief and more like dread.

She already knows.

*

“Something’s happened to Bellamy,” Murphy chokes, spitting water on to her already drenched flooring, dripping with rain and tears and—

She swallows.

_Blood._

Clarke’s had many moments that she believed at the time to qualify as the worst day of her life.

And yet still, some naive part of her thinks, _this is it—this is the one to top all others._

“Your mom—she needed me to find you—she needs more hands and— _Clarke!_ ” His fists are on her shoulders squeezing, shaking.

She gasps for air.

How long wasn’t she breathing? Seconds? _Minutes?_

“Snap out of it, Griffin! Bellamy needs you. Do you hear me? _He needs you._ So get your ass—”

And then she’s running—harder than she ever did from the grounders attacking their ship, from the reapers wanting to pick her skin from her bones with their teeth, from the fire that turned the world into ash.

Because this time she’s running to something— _someone._

“Bellamy,” she breathes, shoving every last ounce of hope outside her lungs. “Hold on.”

_Don’t let go._

_Stay with me._

**Author's Note:**

> Also, hello, hi, if you didn't know a published an original short story (f/f) [here.](https://www.bellesa.co/story/564/first-impressions) (18+ only!).
> 
> *
> 
> You can hang with me on [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4ED5Wt-5ktDlZmnqysv9jA?view_as=subscriber), [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/rycewritestrash/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/rycewritestrash), [tumblr](http://rycewritestrash.tumblr.com/) and [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/rycewritestrash). You can support me (or don't--99.8% chance I'm not worth it) on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/rycewritestrash), feeding my caffeine addiction, and on [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/rycewritestrash/).


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